Chapter 73: Chapter 73: How to deal with an alpha

Rafael emerged from the steam with damp hair, dressed in a white bathrobe, a towel draped around his shoulders, and the vague sense that he had just escaped something far more dangerous than hot water.

Silence greeted him.

Not Gregoris.

Which was both a relief and an immediate source of unease, because peace in this mansion generally meant someone elsewhere was plotting his emotional murder.

He had barely stepped into the bedroom when the door clicked softly.

“Milord Rafael,” Peter said, voice politely serene in the way only palace-trained staff could achieve when confronting disaster. He entered with perfect posture, and more importantly, with a rectangular cream-white gift box resting on his hands like an offering to the gods.

An ether-stabilized box. The humming field was subtle, but Rafael felt it immediately. Rafael had no talent in ether manipulation, spells, or anything related to it, but the work in the palace under Gabriel taught him how to recognize danger.

He froze.

Peter bowed slightly and extended it. “This has just arrived from the Imperial Palace. From the Imperial Consort and Marchioness Lancaster.”

Rafael blinked.

Then he very slowly turned his head to Peter.

“Why,” he asked carefully, “is it humming?”

Peter didn’t even pretend not to understand. “Their Graces have… taken precautions. The ether locks are meant to prevent spontaneous detonation of emotional decisions.”

Rafael stared at the faint glowing blue seam across the lid.

“Oh gods,” he breathed.

“And,” Peter continued with smooth diplomacy, “I was instructed to inform you that His Majesty is enforcing strict rest on His Consort after the Shard incident. Which unfortunately leaves His Consort with free time.”

Rafael’s soul left his body.

Peter added gently, “Marchioness Alexandra is visiting to provide comfort. Which results in… collaborative free time.”

Silence.

A quiet, ominous hum from the box.

“…Is it dangerous?” Rafael asked.

“That depends on your definition of danger,” Peter replied. “I have removed anything sharp, incendiary, or politically explosive. But… conceptually, it remains volatile.”

Rafael sighed like a condemned man and accepted it.

The moment his hands touched the surface, the ether strip rippled and unlocked with a soft chime, reacting to his signature. The ribbon slid loose on its own, spell-triggered.

The label burned itself into clarity across the top of the lid in shimmering script.

HOW TO DEAL WITH AN ALPHA

With a crown doodled over the word Alpha.

“Oh, for the love of God…” Rafael mumbled before sitting down. “No. No. I’m not opening this.”

The door opened.

Rafael didn’t react at first. He was too busy deciding whether to throw the box out a window or salt and bury it.

Then he felt the familiar pressure in the ether. Cold steel wrapped in winter air.

Gregoris stepped inside. He had bathed like he promised an hour ago and now was dangerously casual.

An expensive crisp white shirt, collar open enough to show the sharp line of his throat and collarbone. Sleeves rolled to the forearm, revealing strong arms and faint scars on the skin. Black trousers cut sharp. Relaxed posture.

And house shoes.

Rafael’s brain stuttered.

His mate. Empire’s most efficient nightmare. Domestic.

Gregoris paused mid-step when he saw the box. His gaze sharpened instantly, the air tightening, like he expected it to explode or attempt seduction.

“…What is that?”

Rafael sighed. “A mistake.”

Gregoris frowned. “Did someone send you live weaponry again?”

Peter, returning silently with tea, answered with grave politeness, “From the Imperial Consort and Marchioness Lancaster, Commander.”

Gregoris stared at the box harder.

“Oh,” he said flatly.

Which, honestly, said a lot.

His eyes dropped to the shimmering, smugly glowing label. The script pulsed cheerfully.

HOW TO DEAL WITH AN ALPHA-with a tiny golden crown drawn over Alpha.

Gregoris blinked once.

Then again.

Then very calmly said, “Give it to me.”

“No,” Rafael said instantly, clutching it like a defensive shield. “Absolutely not. I am protecting your pride, our peace, and possibly the stability of this Empire-”

Gregoris reached.

Rafael leaned away.

“No.”

The air shifted in that subtle way only ether could. His scent deepened unintentionally, winter sharpening into something cool and territorial at the idea of classified mate content existing without his review.

“Rafael,” Gregoris said with slow patience, “it has my title on it.”

“It has your species on it,” Rafael snapped. “There is a difference.”

A faint hum sparked along the box, responding gleefully to emotional escalation.

Gregoris squinted at it. “…Is it warded?”

“Yes,” Rafael said miserably. “Gabriel is bored, and Alexandra is unsupervised.”

Gregoris stared like that sentence explained global instability.

Which it did.

He reached again, slower this time. “Let me see.”

Rafael hesitated.

Ether pulsed under his skin, a soft connection tugging. Gregoris didn’t push through the bond. Didn’t dominate with scent or instinct. He simply stood there, patient, waiting because Rafael mattered more than his curiosity.

Rafael sighed and loosened his grip.

“Fine. But if this ruins your ego, I’m not responsible.”

Gregoris lifted the lid.

He read the title page.

Lesson One: They Are Large, Loud, and Frequently Wrong-Do Not Panic.

Animated ether diagram: an alpha growling while an unimpressed omega stirred tea.

Gregoris went still.

Very still.

Peter quietly left the room to avoid witnessing international consequences.

Rafael bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Gregoris slowly turned the next page.

Lesson Two: If It Can Be Solved With Food, Solve It With Food.

A very accurate miniature animated Gregoris went silent as an ethereal croissant was placed in his hand.

His eye twitched.

He turned another.

Lesson Three: Weaponize Disappointment. They Crumble.

The diagram Rafael suspected Alexandra herself approved showed an alpha dramatically collapsing under a raised eyebrow.

Rafael lost the battle and laughed, shoulders shaking, breath catching somewhere between mortification and relief.

“Do you find this funny?” Gregoris asked.

The tone dropped a shade lower, rougher, and something that curled into the air rather than cutting through it. The ether in the room responded before Rafael did, like the world itself had picked up on the shift.

Rafael looked up… and very abruptly regretted doing that.

Gregoris wasn’t angry. That somehow made what he felt worse. He stood there unhurried, watching Rafael with that focused stillness he rarely wasted on anything outside of danger or targets. His scent thickened.

Rafael wondered, distantly, whether he should be nervous.

Then his body answered for him.

Heat flushed through him, and his breathing hitched. His pheromones responded first, because of course they did, sparking warm, traitorous sweetness into the air like a confession.

’Oh.’

So apparently it was “turned on.”

’Fantastic.’

He stared at Gregoris in betrayed disbelief.

Gregoris blinked once, and something slow and amused slid into his expression as the scent hit him. The commander’s restraint tightened, not breaking, just… narrowing focus. Like prey had walked into reach, and he was choosing, carefully, not to pounce. Yet.

A muscle in his jaw shifted.

“I see,” he said calmly, and somehow that calm burned hotter than a shout ever could.

Rafael flushed harder. “Don’t-” He gestured vaguely at everything. “Comment.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Gregoris replied. “But your pheromones are.”

Rafael made a strangled sound, burying his face in his hands for a second. “I hate biology.”

Gregoris stepped closer.

The bond hummed low under Rafael’s skin, impossible to ignore. Gregoris leaned down slightly, close enough that Rafael could feel the warmth of his breath near his ear.

“Do you,” he murmured, “still find it funny?”

Rafael swallowed.

“Yes,” he managed, somehow, though it came out softer than he intended. “Unfortunately.”

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